


Batman/Joker Week!

by TimmyJaybird



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Crossdressing, Gore, Is that Cannibalism?, It might be cannibalism, M/M, My attempts at horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-11 17:54:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My entries for the Batman/Joker week I'm hosting over on Tumblr!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1: First Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Come join us on the [Batman/Joker Week Tumblr](http://batman-jokerweek.tumblr.com/) and participate in the event!

_He hated him_. The way his lean figure hunched over when his laugh began, then arched into those awkward, glorious curves. The way the scars pulled up on his cheeks, how he showed far too many teeth when he grinned. And those _eyes_ , a wild, dancing green that never seemed to stop moving, taking in the world and processing it and _rejecting it_.

What he hated the most though, was his mouth- but specifically, those lips. Red and scarred and taunting, tormenting. It was hard to not stare at them, at how they stood out against skin so pale it didn’t need the paint he plastered on.

He was grinning now, looking right at Bruce, as if he could see through the cowl, through his eyes and eye sockets, and into his skull, his brain, like he could pry and push and prod and mold. Bruce _hated_ that too.

The skyline was alight behind him. Bruce, thankfully, had figured out his riddle and cleared out the nightclub, but he hadn’t been able to stop the man from blowing it sky high. It burned and Gotham smelled of smoke and gasoline, so thick Bruce could taste it on his tongue.

The Joker was _tsking_ , shaking his head so his mop of green curls flew around him. “Bats Bats _Batsss_ , you had to go and ruin my fun! Why, I’ll have to make up for all the lives you _stole_ from me. Still-“ he turned, looked back at the burning pit behind them, “At least the fireworks were _pretty_.”

Bruce lunged at him, growling low in his throat. The Joker anticipated it, curving away as he side stepped, grabbing fistfuls of Bruce’s cape as he stumbled past him. He leaned his body weight back, pulling on the cape and effectively twirling Bruce around, knocking him off balance so he fell down onto the ground. The Joker laughed, placing his hands on his hips and leaning over, sticking his tongue out in a childish gesture. Then he turned and was off, running through the Gotham streets.

Bruce pushed himself up and chased after him. He was just a purple blip in the distance, making his way through the streets, pushing past a news reporter and showing down a barricade put up. Bruce grimaced- he hated when their chases went public. He wanted to keep the man confined to the dark, away from the public, the innocents.

He wanted to keep the man where only he could reach him.

The thought was dangerous and made Bruce bite at the insides of his cheeks as punishment as he ran past the screaming press, the cops drawing their guns. They had been too slow, too shocked to see the Joker suddenly appear, and he was too far gone now. They were useless, but it was not surprising.

Bruce’s lungs burned as he ran, trying to keep up. The Joker made another calculated leap over some debris, nimble and _quick_ , and turned down a small alley. Bruce was slower here, grabbing the debris and launching over it, but having to turn and fun back a few steps to get to the alley. He skipped a halt a few feet in- realizing it was empty. There was a large fence at the end, and while he was sure the Joker could have climbed it, it seemed undisturbed. Frowning, he took a few steps in, stopping under a fire escape and _listening_.

All at once the air moved and the metal creaked, he turned, looked up, just in time to see the Joker, laying above him, throw half his body over the edge so he feel face to face with Bruce-, even if his was upside down. He smirked, swung slightly, and suddenly there was no gap between them-

Suddenly those distracting red lips were pressed to Bruce’s. His mind went blank as he drank in the touch, the oddness of it all. The slide the lipstick allowed an easy movement of those lips that were a majority of silk, with sections of raised, rough scars that made them all the nicer. And the fact that they were a parody of a normal kiss, upside down as the Joker was.

He sucked at Bruce’s lower lip, pulling it into his mouth to worry it between his teeth, and Bruce reached a hand up, getting a fist full of green curls. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, before the mouth against his pulled away. He opened his eyes as the Joker untangled his hair from his hand and was pulling himself back up, standing on the fire escape and beckoning Bruce on. He turned and began to climb the rickety stairs, and Bruce hesitated, before following, his mind cloudy by the hot blood pumping through his veins.

He didn’t have time to question himself- to fully take in that the mad man he spent endless nights trying to subdue and lock away has just _kissed_ him- that it had felt so natural he could slip into it without thought.

The Joker had ducked inside a window, but Bruce knew his destination, could feel it in his bones. He shot a hook up to the roof, tugged the line to make sure it was secure, and leaped, planting his boot against the brick wall and climbed up. As he pulled himself over the lip, the Joker came bursting out from an old door that led into the building, grinning. He ran over, just as Bruce got his footing, and grabbed the man, pulling them both down to the roof with a _thud_.

Bruce’s instincts kicked in then, fighting through the hazy cloud one might call the blooming of lust, , as he grabbed the Joker’s wrists before the man could wrap his arms around him, pinning him to the ground. The Joker snickered and wrapped his legs around Bruce’s waist, squeezing and pressing with up a grin. Bruce froze, realizing the man hadn’t meant to actually _harm_ him- or if he had, he’d changed his plan already.

“You’re fun to, ah, play with, sugar,” the Joker teased, rubbing his hips along Bruce’s pelvis. “ _So easy_ to work up.” He winked, and Bruce squeezed his wrists painfully, fighting for the control he has losing so quickly again.

“You could have a lot of people,” Bruce hissed, and the Joker grinned.

“Would’ve added some nice _color_ to the fireworks.” Bruce snarled, and the Joker groaned, grinding into him. “Yeah darling, _get angry_.” He was laughing, and Bruce pressed close, needing the sound to stop somehow, anyway-

He crashed his lips to the Joker’s, got a triumphant, shocked squeak of a moan from the man, before he was fighting back with tongue and teeth. Bruce bit at his lower lips until he felt flesh give and copper on his tongue, and his body pushed down into the clown’s, fueled by it. The Joker was giggling into his mouth, around his tongue, all teeth and bloody heat and knowing tongue, and Bruce’s mind was spinning rapidly, falling into the nothing and everything that was promised there-

The Joker didn’t notice one of his wrists free of the pressure of Bruce’s hand. He didn’t notice him moving every too slightly until the heard the _clink_ of cuffs around his wrists, and his eyes widened, before narrowing as Bruce pulled back.

“Mmm, Bats,” he cooed, “We can play _this_ game if you want.” His eyes looked dark, dangerous, alluring, and Bruce took a breath to cool his blood, calm the way it hummed through his veins with desire.

“We’re not playing a game,” Bruce said, pushing off of him and grabbing him, throwing his wriggling body of one shoulder. “You’re going back to Arkham, where you belong.”

The Joker didn’t fight as he was carried to waiting police. He simply wriggle and writhed around, forcing Bruce to hold onto him to keep him from falling- one of the vigilante’s hands sliding up his ass for part of the trip down to the streets, leaving to the Joker to turn and groan near Bruce’s ear.

He was loaded into the back of an armored van, al the while the cops giving Bruce odd stares. Confused, the vigilante set the Joker down and stepped out, just in time to meet Gordon’s own quizzical gaze.

“Batman,” he said, “you’ve got...something.” He motioned around his own mouth, and Bruce ran his gloved fingers along his mouth, coming back with faint red pain smears. _Lipstick_. He turned, glaring at the Joker, who was upi and moving, leaning halfway out of the van to press his lips to Bruce’s one more time. The vigilante stood, frigid and unmoving, as that mouth devoured his in a sweet way that made him _ache_ , before the Joker pulled back with a grin, a wink, and a cackle as he sat down and one of the cops closed the van, locking it tight. Bruce realized everyone was still staring at him, even Gordon, and with shaky lungs and uneven breath, he turned and quickly made his way to the shadows, vowing through gritted teeth he’d get his revenge on the clown for this.


	2. Day 2: A Padded Room for Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit fucked up and meant to be unnerving...not sure if I really achieved that completely.

_Throbbing_ , his head was pounding to the point that he was sure it was burst. Bruce’s eyes were squeezed shut, his temple resting against something soft, yet firm. He groaned, forced his eyes open, saw only black for a brief few passing seconds before his eyes remembered how to _see_.

He was laying against something dingy, once an off white but stained now. It smelled moldy, the sharp scent of stale water and old piss and dirt that had once seen the dinosaurs. Bruce rolled onto his side so his nose wasn’t pressed to it, took in a ragged breath, coughed because the scent was on the back of his tongue now, tasting vile. He tried to move, realized his arms were crossed over his torso, pressed tightly. He managed to sit up, to look around, but the entire room was one endless pattern- that once off white color, now stained, dingy grey-browns and yellows and that _awful_ smell.

It was dim, dark, there was light sneaking in from the cracks in the pattern on the ceiling, but it was a yellowish dying color, only enough for Bruce to see the distinctions in the colors on the wall. He looked down at himself, realized he was confined into a straight jacket, and his mind began to whirl. Where was he last, who was it with- _how did he get here_?

He thrashed, before he told himself to _calm down_. The jacket felt old, threadbare and weak. Carefully he brought himself to his knees, fidgeting around and straining against the bindings with all his strength. He heard the fabric tighten, begin to tear, and then give as he lurched forward, falling down but being able to catch himself. He gulped down a breath, before he stood up, pulling on the overly long sleeves and tearing them off at the seams, leaving them on the ground.

He looked around the room, eyes focusing on the indents of the padding, trying to find a seam. He pushed against one wall, felt the curves beneath his fingertips, until they hooked under one padding. Grinning, he pushed with all his might, his bare feet slipping slightly against the padding on the floor. The walls creaked, until finally the old lock gave, and the door beneath the padding opened, spilling Bruce out into the hallway. He stumbled, fell, coughed because the air was hot and wet in the hallway, steam lurking in the air. Confused, Bruce looked around.

The tiles on the floor were stained with dirt and mold and _lord only knows what_. Bruce pushed himself up and stood, staggering a little and leaning against the wall. He was light headed still, but he tried to clear his mind, tried to recognize this hallway. He felt he had seen it before, perhaps.

Carefully he began down the hall, keeping close to the wall, his bare feet quiet on the floor. The air was getting warmer as he walked, heavier. He turned a corner and stopped, staring wide eyed into this new corridor. He housed two open cells, one on each side, with old rusted bars to keep the inmates inside. Strung up across the hall, braided together and around the bars were slick, wet stretches of _something_ , reds and pinks and smelling of blood and innards. Bruce stepped a little closer to the mess, following the length of one, his eyes peering into one of the cells-

He reached up and covered his mouth, his stomach heaving. Inside bodies were strewn about, stomachs gutted, left partially empty and open. Their intestines were missing. Bruce looked at the fleshy hunks in front of him and swallowed the bile in his throat, knowing now what they were.

“What the hell...” he muttered. He considered turning and going back, but there had been nothing at the end of the hall where the cell he’d found himself in resided. This was his only option in this maze. Taking a deep breath- and regretting it as the stench of the intestines filled his sinuses- he dropped down to his hands and knees and began to crawl under them, the thought of the innards touching his skin just _too much_.

He was nearly on his belly by the time the end was in sight. He took a breath, felt his body relaxing a bit, when suddenly he heard a scraping sound behind him. He craned his neck to peer over his shoulder, saw a screeching, lanky creature clawing from the shadows. Its claws were clinking and scraping against the floor as he charged down the hall, ripping into the first few strings of intestines. Bruce felt his heart pound suddenly against his ribs and he pushed himself up, the slick flesh sliding along his back and shoulders, and ran, shoving them out of the way, one attempting to catch around his throat and cutting his breath off momentarily.

He flung it aside and broke free, skidding to a stop and turning back. He shook as he stared at nothing- nothing except the gruesome decorating. Nothing torn except what he touched.

Bruce’s head sway and he pressed a hand to the wall, leaning over and vomiting finally. His throat burned as he coughed, spit to try and clear the taste, and then stood up, running the back of his hand over his mouth. He was shaking at he tried to control his breathing against it, turning away from the sick scene and at the heavy door that cut this hallway off from the next. He walked to the door and tried the handle, but it only jiggled, didn’t open. Growling, Bruce pushed the handle down as much as he could and threw his weight into the door once, twice, three times before it gave and opened, nearly spilling him onto the floor for a second time.

He coughed, the air considerably thicker, wetter, the steam ghosting through the stale air. He gulped it down as he walked, tugging on what remained of the jacket as the fabric stuck to his sweat soaked skin. A few yards in and frustrated, Bruce stopped and tugged it off, leaving it in a heap on the floor as he continued. He hallway felt endless, but there was another door at the end, a clean looking one, nice dark, heavy wood. Bruce finally reached it and placed his forehead to it. It felt cool.

He tried the doorknob, shocked that it opened on his first try. He slipped inside, closing it behind him, and the air was suddenly cool and light. It had opened to a rather posh office, with a rich burgundy rug and sleek leather sofa. But in front of him was the most important part, behind the solid oak-wood desk-

The Joker was sitting there, looking up from a stack of papers and watching Bruce. His green curls were slicked back and his face lacked its garish white paint- though it was almost just as pale on its own- and his lips were a cherry red and _neat_. He had a white coat set of a black suit, and he almost _didn’t look like himself_.

He set his pen down, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Bruce, what are you doing out of your room?”

“What the fuck is this?” he asked, looking around the room. “What the fuck is going on here?” The Joker stood up, walking around the desk and reaching for Bruce, guiding him towards the sofa. Bruce sat, exhausted, while the Joker eyed the stale blood smeared on him.

“Is someone hurt, Bruce?” he asked, tilting his head, and Bruce was shaking.

“I don’t know- yes, yes lots. They’re all dead- god, they were gutted like pigs.” He reaches up and runs his hands over his face. “And there was a...a _thing_. Some sort of monster.”

“A monster, Bruce.” The Joker pulls his hands from his face gently, settling them down at his sides.

“Yeah, almost like a gargoyle- or a bat.”

The Joker clicked his tongue, shook his head. “Bruce, Bruce, Bruce, we’ve been over this Bat fantasy of yours. You’ve got to get over your fear of it- there’s no Bat monster, Bat-Man. It’s all up here.” He reached a hand into Bruce’s hair, fingers pressing into his scalp.

“But I saw-“

“Shhhh,” the Joker whispered, climbing onto the couch over him carefully, straddling his thighs. “Now, why did you come to _me_ , Bruce?”

Bruce blinked. “I...I just _found_ this door. I didn’t know-“

“But you _did_.” The Joker sighed. “You are using the Bat-Man beast as an excuse, Bruce. An excuse to come into my office at all hours of the day and night. An excuse to see _me_.” He leaned closer, his breath warm against Bruce’s mouth. “Now what are we to make of that?”

Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but before he could the Joker pressed in closer, his mouth over taking Bruce’s. Bruce lost his breath as that mouth moved expertly, as if it knew just how he liked to be kissed. He reached up and grasped at the Joker’s biceps as a tongue traced the seam of his lips, before it snaked inside and tested the sharpness of his teeth, before winding around his own. Bruce mewled softly without meaning to, and the Joker pushed him back further into the sofa, rubbing up along his body. Bruce felt a hardness pressing into him when he did, and ground up against him before he even knew _what the hell he was even doing_.

“Joker,” he breathed, forgetting the mess he’d been through, the terror, and wanting nothing more than to swallow that tongue down suddenly, because it was something he recognized somehow. But the man pulled back suddenly, staring down at Bruce with his green eyes, frowning.

“Who am I, Bruce?” he asked, and he just stared.

“The Joker...” he said with a little hesitation, and the clown climbed off of him, shrugging his white jacket off and tossing it back onto his table. He sighed and shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’ve told you Bruce, this fantasy of yours...this _Joker_ you create, it’s not healthy, either. You use the Bat-Man as a justification to run to me, and this _Joker_ as an excuse for your attraction to me. Until you let this fantasy go, we cannot continue.” He turned his back on Bruce, walked around the desk and lifted his pen, bending over and jotting a few notes onto one of the papers he’d been reading.

_Justification? Fantasy?_ Bruce was more confused than ever. “What do you mean, fantasy? You _are_ the Joker. You terrorize Gotham, you’ve killed hundreds- you’re _obsessed_ with me.” The Joker laughed, looking up.

“Oh Bruce,” he said, “I’m...I’m almost flattered that I am such an integral part of your fantasy, but it simply will not do. I cannot condone it and expect you to recover- I cannot prompt growth to a world that exists only in your head.” He set his pen down and walked over to Bruce, holding his hand out. Bruce took it and stood on shaking feet. “Now, let’s get you back into your cell for the night. It’s already well after hours, and if I remain much longer, they higher ups will suspect I’m up to something.”

He led Bruce to the door, opening it. Bruce stared at a dim but clean hallway- it smelled faintly like bleach, and the steam was gone. He stared, confused, and followed the doctor dumbly. The cells were empty, not a trace of the bodies, yet the blood had been real- Bruce knew, the Joker had seen it on him.

They paused before they actually reached the cells, the Joker bending down and gathering up what remained of Bruce’s straight jacket. He looked at him and shook his head, speaking as they continued walking. “We’ll have to get you a new one...again. You wouldn’t have to wear one if you would cooperate for more people, Bruce.”

They finally made it back to Bruce’s original cell, in a plain hallway that still smelled like bleach. The Joker opened the door and gestured for Bruce to step inside. Bruce hesitated, and the Joker sighed, turning and running a hand up along his bare chest.

“You know,” he said, “If you just _tried_ a little to give up these fantasies...we could have something rather, ah, pleasant, Bruce. Unorthodox or not, I think it might be a good _reward_ for you when you make progress.” He leaned in, his nose bumping Bruce’s chin as he slipped below, pressing his lips to the pulse point in his neck. Bruce gasped, couldn’t believe those lips felt so perfect, and the Joker chuckled. “You’ve always been so sensitive here,” he murmured, “Now, the next time I see you in my office- when you _should_ be in my office, for therapy- try to believe it’s all a lie. Try to believe this Bat-Man and this Joker are just in your head, and maybe I’ll let you find some release.”

His hand reached down and cupped Bruce through his thin orange pants. Bruce groaned and the Joker chuckled.

“B-but,” Bruce whispered, as the Joker pulled away and guided him fully into the cell. “It’s not in my head. Gotham needs me-“

“Gotham needs you locked up, sugar,” he said, “Until you’re better. Now, do as I say, before Dr. Arkham decides he wants a crack at you.”

The door closed and Bruce heard it lock, then the echoing of footsteps walking away. He slumped down and closed his eyes, confused. Dr. Arkham? What could he have to do with-

_You’re in the Asylum, sugar_.

Bruce jerked his head up, and the briefly clean padding was filthy again, decaying. That voice, it was the Joker, he was sure he’d heard it. He jumped up, threw himself against where he knew the door was, but it didn’t give. “Joker!” he screamed, and there was laughter. The air was growing hotter by the second again, heavy and wet, and Bruce gagged.

_You’re here with my, darling. Right where you belong_. Bruce was throwing his body against the wall still, his shoulder aching from the continuous impact. _We’re in hell together, just you and me and an endless nightmare on loop_.

Bruce fell to his knees and screamed, fisting his hands in his hair and tugging as his eyes squeezed shut and everything faded to black...

“You’ll be out for a good long while, precious,” the Joker cooed, tracing his finger along Bruce’s face, his cowl ripped back. His suit was in pieces, parts clinging to him, some cast away. An IV was hooked up, pumping a noxious looking yellow-green liquid into his veins. The Joker pressed his mouth to his temple, reveling in the salt of his sweat. “Living out some nightmare. I do wonder what you see- are you me, perhaps? Are _you_ the insane one? Oh, that would be so _de-light-ful_.”

He walked around Bruce, gathering up the cape he’d stripped from him and let pool on the floor. He wrapped himself up in it, grinning. “When you wake up, you’ll be just as mad as me- won’t know reality from fantasy. Then maybe we can share a cell.” He giggled, crawled up onto the table and straddled Bruce’s unconscious body, grinding down into him in a way that made the Joker moan. “A padded room for two,” he cooed, leaning down and smearing his lipstick along Bruce’s neck and jawline, “With just you, me, and a cozy little nightmare to keep us warm.”

He cackled into Bruce’s throat, felt the muscles quivering as, in his mind, Bruce screamed himself raw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd really love to continue with this idea.


	3. Day 3: Anniversary

Bruce’s boots crunched on broken glass as he made his way into the vacated warehouse, an old lumbering beast out towards the Narrows that was due to be torn down in the next coming months, but otherwise had gone untouched for years now.

Until now.

His heart had lurched in his throat when the note had arrived to him, to his personal _home_ , written in scratchy, red ink, giving Bruce the address with only a small message:

_Don’t be late for our little date, Brucie-Bat! And wear your best, it’s our special night and the audience will except nothing less!_

There were hostages. Bruce knew that much, he didn’t need to read far between the lines for that. But special night? Wear his best? He was much more foggy on that.

Thankfully, upon entering the wretched old building, a neat little path had been laid out for him. Against the dusty blacks and grays of the floor, a trail of rose petals, rich reds and immaculate whites, led through the large open space, towards the closed off stairwell. Bruce followed it, opening the large door with a loud, irritating creek, and stepping into the desolate space. He followed the petals down into the basement, through a rather narrow hallway, to where they stopped at another door. Bruce took a breath, before pushing it open, steeling himself for what he may see.

He still wasn’t prepared.

He stood a few yards away from a long table, set with such a deep red table cloth it would almost pass as black, and set with two places. At the center of the table was a large bouquet of red and white roses, in a sleek vase with a large black ribbon fashioned into a bow.

And standing by the side, smiling at him, was the Joker.

Well, at least, Bruce assumed it had to be the Joker.

He lacked his garish make-up, his lips were a cherry red, but the lipstick was confined to his lips only. His eyes were smokey, black, but stylishly so, and his pale skin lacked the pure white paint he normally wore. His smile could have almost been pretty, if it didn’t hold some or so sinister sickness behind it, if it hadn’t been quite so wide.

“Bats!” he said, opening his arms in greeting, his perfectly done curls bouncing along his shoulders. “I’m so glad you got my _invitation_.” He took a few steps towards him, and Bruce’s eyes raked over his lean body, unsure exactly _how_ he should be reacting. He had shed his suit and replaced it with a sleek red dress- one that ended at mid-thigh and was held up bu only two thin straps. It clung to his hips and thighs in such a way that Bruce had to wonder if he’d _always_ had that perfect hip curve.

When he walked his heels clicked, and Bruce glanced at the red pumps, before jerking his eyes back up to the man’s face. The Joker giggled. “Oh _honey_ , do I look good?”

Bruce said nothing, looked around the dark room. The only light came from candles that burned on the table. “Where are the hostages?”

“Oh Bats, you are such a terrible date.” The Joker sauntered up, poking him in the chest. “Don’t ask after other people before you even ask about your date.”

Bruce went to protest, when the Joker’s arm jerked up and smacked him in the face, throwing his head back so a needle could slip into his throat. Within seconds, the room went black.

When Bruce came to, he was sitting in a chair in fornt of one of the place sittings. There were ropes across his chest and arms, binding him to the chair. His hands were free, but the ropes ended at the wrist and he could barely move them.

“Ah, good, you’re awake!” the Joker said, fingers tracing along a wine glass. It was full with a thick, red fluid, and Bruce was suddenly afraid to ask. The Joker saw his eyes darting to it and laughed, lifting it up and taking a drink. “You let your nightmares get the best of you, Brucie-Bat,” he said, setting it down and licking his cherry lips. “Now darling, I do hope you’re hungry-“ He reached across the table, lifted up the cover on one of the platters, and Bruce stared at small, neatly cut hunks of roasted meat. He raised an eyebrow, looked from the plate of oddly edible looking food to the Joker, and back again. “Looking for the trick?”

Bruce nodded, and the Joker laughed. “Why Brucie, can’t we just enjoy a little _treat_ every now and then?” He pouted, walking around the table to hi to traced his jawline. “I’ve got quite the treat for you, if you think you’re _up_ to it.” He winked, and Bruce pulled against the restraints.

“What is this all about?” he asked, and the pout returned.

“How could you have forgotten our anniversary, Batsy! I’m crushed!” He leaned back dramatically, sighing.

“What anniversary?” The Joker rushed away, into the shadows around the room.

“Why an important one!” he cried, “Though I do know we have _so_ many.” Bruce could hear him rushing around, wheels spinning. “So important I had to make sure we have an audience!”

Bruce’s mind rushed back to the knowledge that there were hostages, and he strained harder. “Let them go, Joker. This is between you and me.”

“Oh quite right, quite right. But I don’t think they’re in any, ah, _shape_ to go anywhere.” The Joker came rushing from the shadows then, pushing an old, rusted wheel chair left from when this warehouse held medical supplies. In it was the limp body of a woman, her head lolling from side to side, a sick Cheshire grin carved into her face. Bruce stared, his stomach knotting, and was her shirt was soaked in blood around her stomach.

“What the fuck,” he hissed, and the Joker laughed, dipping into the shadows and returning with another body, a man with the same sick, carved grin, and blood along along the deflated thighs of his jeans.

“Do you want to see _all_ of them?” the Joker asked, laughing and Bruce felt sick.

“What did you do to them?” he asked, voice wavering, and the man walked over to the table, lifting another lid off a tray.

“Why, I didn’t do anything _distasteful_ ,” he cooed with a giggle at the end, “Now have something to eat sugar, you look _famished_.”

His words weren’t lost on Bruce, who tasted bile in the back of his throat. He watched as the Joker picked up a little morsel and popped it into his mouth, smiling. He grabbed another and held it out to Bruce, who leaned as far away as he could, his hands working to rub the rope against the sharp angles of his suit.

“Just a taste,” the Joker whispered, “Really Bats, don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” When Bruce pressed his lips together the Joker sighed, tossing it away, before he slipped between Bruce and the table and leaned against it, his dress hiking up his thighs, “If you’d rather, you can try _my_ meat. I know you’ll like it.” He cackled, and in that moment the rope snapped against Bruce’s suit and he jerked free. He grabbed at the Joker, grasping a hand full of red fabric and tearing the front of his dress up to his navel, a huge chunk being pulled away. The Joker slipped away, whirling around to glare at him, the juncture of his thighs clad in a mess of black lace _that Bruce realized he enjoyed in some sick way_.

“Bastard,” he growled, before he lunged, all fury and energy, and Bruce moved, knocking the chair out of the way. He ran around the table, and the Joker jumped onto it, grabbing a knife. He stood, oddly steady in his heels, watching Bruce shift, grinning. “Come give daddy a kiss,” he said, before he leapt off, latching onto Bruce and forcing him to the ground. He grabbed his cowl in one hand and slammed his head into the ground, dazing him. Bruce stared at him, dizzy, and the Joker leaned back, rotating his hips and sticking the tip of the knife into the lace.

“I get all dolled up for you,” he said, pulling out the underwear slightly, “I go through all this trouble to put together a little romantic dinner, _and you don’t even remember our anniversary_.” He growled, pulling the knife out and chucking it. Bruce heard it push into something with a sick _squish_ , and he didn’t want to know how many more bodies waited in the shadows.

“What anniversary,” he asked through gritted teeth as the Joker rocked against him, obviously enjoying his position atop Bruce.

“Why,” he started, smacking his red lips together, “it was exactly one year ago I learned your name, Brucie-Bat.” He grinned, pressing his hands to Bruce’s chest as he ground down into him, and Bruce hated himself for liking some sick part of this. “Exactly one year ago, I officially clawed my way into _every part of your life_.”

He laughed, and it resonated off the walls and into Bruce’s mind, twisting around his mind like a vice and refusing to let go _ever_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit my Hannibal obsession leaked into my Batman obsession...or did it? Who knows. Maybe he was bluffing ;)


	4. Day 4: Voyeur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to keep it short today, sort of like a mid-week breather. I also thought I got the point across in this length anyway XD

The Joker was crouched over a bog, holding her up with his hand buried in her hair, gripping at her scalp. The knife in his other hand was dig into her mouth, poised at her cheek. He was giggling and humming to himself, making excited little noises as the knife cut into her cheek, tearing up in half a wide grin. He re-positioned it, cut into her other cheek, cooing as the dead flesh parted and left her grinning like him.

“Perfect,” he said to himself, shoving the knife away and steadying her head in both hands to look at his work. For a moment his eyes darted away from her, back as far as they could without his head moving, and then he looked back at her. He kissed one torn cheek, leaving a lipstick smudge behind, and stood, positioning her in the ally so the next passer by would see her.

Then he was off. Climbing up the fire escape and onto the roof, running through the cool night air and leaping off the ledge of the building. He landed on the next, kept running, curls bouncing, laughter rising up into the night. It felt so _good_ to fly free like this, to know the city was _his_.

He crouched at the edge, looked down at the civilians beneath, imagining all of them with those wide grins. He pointed, counting them off, waiting for his finger to land on one-

When it did, he moved like lightning. He made his way down a fire escape, slid around the corner like a serpent, watching the man who had caught his eye. As if fated, the man crossed the street, headed for the side street the Joker waited at. He pressed himself to the wall, giddy and full of twitching dying butterflies, fingers drumming against the wall. The moment the man was around the corner he grabbed him, clamping his gloved hand over the man’s mouth and dragging him the few yards into the small alley way. He shoved him against the wall, pressing his body up tight and pushing a knife against his throat.

The man whimpered something, and the Joker just laughed, rubbing against him as he pulled his own coat up and aimed the ridiculously happy looking flower there at his face. A puff of gas raced into his nose and throat, and he looked delirious moments later, smiling. The Joker cackled, sinking his fingers into the man’s hair and settling his blade in his mouth, carving up his bloody smile while the man was still alive.

He rutted against him as he did so, blood slicking his fingers, running along his gloves and onto the pale skin at his wrist. He giggled and kept sawing into fleshing, until the man stopped smiling and twitching against him and the top of his head began to tip back.

“Oops,” the Joker teased, stepping back and letting the body drop, “I got a little _carried away_.” He turned then, stared at the shadow that was waiting at the entrnace to the alley. He laughed, opening his arms and dropping the bloody knife as Batman stormed towards him, reaching out with his strong hands and grasping him.

Instead of slamming him into the wall, he pulled him up and crashed their lips together. The Joker writhed against him, grasping at him with bloody hands and accepting the tongue that invaded his mouth. He rubbed against him impatiently, rocking his hips into his Bat, laughing as the man groaned and rocked back.

“Good enough show for ya, Bats?” The man said nothing, reached between them to palm him through his pants, and the Joker moaned, ending in a giggle. “You’re a naughty one, _Batsss_. What would Gotham do if they knew you get off watchin’ me carve up their fellow citizens.” He laughed again as Batman lifted him, pushed him against the wall and tangled one hand in his curls as he teased the clown.

The Joker was sure they’d never make it back to the cave at this rate. But then again, most nights they never did.


	5. Day 5: Lipstick & Bruises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one is special! This is the piece that accompanies/is based off of [LadyVandaele's](http://ladyvandaele.tumblr.com/) entry for today's prompt! She asked me if I wanted to do a little collab, so I crafted a story around [her sexy little entry](http://ladyvandaele.tumblr.com/post/76527687429/day-5-lipstick-bruises-joker-is-getting)!

The Joker stood center stage of the theater, grinning madly as Batman made his way down one of the aisle. “Ah, _Bats_ ,” he called, “So good of you to join me!” He walked towards the edge of the stage, jacket and shirt both open and pushing away from his lean, pale chest and stomach. “Did you get the chocolates I sent too? You’re hard to ah, shop for Bats, I had to go the classic route!”

Batman gritted his teeth, staring at the man who had dressed as if this was some sort of _set up_ , as if he was not threatening to blow half of Gotham University sky high, but simply inviting Bruce over for wine and trying to slip into his suit.

When Gordon had called him, told him there was a package addressed to _Batsy Darling_ at GCPD headquarters, he had known who it was long before getting there. It had been a classical heart-shaped box of chocolates, with a note reading, _Come see a show with me Sugar_ and signed with a smudged of red lipstick. It was directly after the Gordon had informed him the Joker had sent him a tape, telling him if he didn’t show he was going to blow at least half of Gotham University up into space- and he wouldn’t specify _which_.

Bruce being here bought them time to evacuate. Dorms were first priority, in case he was going for a high body count. Bruce could never be sure.

“What do you want, Joker?” he growled, and the man laughed.

“Why, to see my darling, precious Bat! Whatever else?” He jumped off the stage, landed gracefully and straightened up. “Why don’t you come give daddy a kiss, sugar?”

Bruce charged, fist aimed at the Joker’s abdomen. The clown waited, took the hit with a gasped laugh, body jerking back as Bruce landed another to his side, his chest. He stumbled back, pressed to the stage as Bruce grabbed his biceps with bruising force.

“Tell me where the bombs are,” he spat through gritted teeth, “And I won’t break every bone in your body.”

“Ooooh, playin’ rough tonight. I like that.” He winked, puckered his lips in a mock kiss, and Bruce punched his jaw, jerking his head back and splitting his painted lip. The Joker straightened slowly, his dancing eyes darkening to a green-black that made Bruce’s spine freeze, a chill seeping into his limbs. “Not. The. Face.”

He jerked his arms free and shoved Bruce back a step, getting his leg up between them and planted on his stomach as he kicked him back. Bruce stumbled, and the Joker was on him, shoving him to the ground and straddling his waist, grabbing his head and smashing it into the floor once, twice. Bruce saw stars, disoriented, and the Joker was laughing.

“You see Bats,” he said, tugging his jacket off and tossing it, leaving him in just his open shirt and those pants that hung low on his slightly curved hips. “I rather like my face. I’d prefer it if you didn’t, ah, _damage_ it too much.”

Bruce stared up at him, frowning. “I guess you have to lose it,” he said, “No one else will.”

The Joker seethed at that, pressed his hand to his forehead and kept him pinned down as he leaned in kissed above the corner of his mouth before he bit at the skin. Bruce hissed. “Don’t be cruel,” Joker said, “I put together this date just for _you_.” He straightened up, admired the lipstick smudge he had left behind, and tugged his shirt off, tossing it away. “Maybe you’ll be nicer if I show more skin.”

“Go to hell,” Bruce spat, and the Joker laughed, hopping off him as three of his men came out of the shadows and grabbed Bruce, jerking him up and holding him steady.

“Oh Bats. Bats Bats _Bats_.” He sighed, turned away and walked towards the stage, continuing, “We’re already _there_.”

He hoisted himself back up, and Bruce could watch the muscle working in his back, shoulders, arms, moving under scarred and pale skin in a far too intriguing manner. He would have liked to watch him straighten up, get a good look at that half naked, slender body, but he was dragged away, towards a set of doors that eventually led up to the stage.

Another thug has dragged a very large, elaborate chair onto the stage, one that must have been used for a prop. The Joker flicked his hand towards it, and his men forced Bruce into it, tying him down.

“Make sure it’s nice. And. Tight.” Each word came out laced with need, dripping with want, and Bruce felt something coiling hot in his gut, something he tried to trash against. The Joker was grinning, and behind him another man in a clown mask had dragged another chair out, complete with lush, red cushions. The madman nodded, barked, “Out!” and the thugs disappeared, receding back into the shadows. “Ah, that’s better.”

Bruce expected him to come closer, to straddle his hips like he was prone to do, rock into him in that sick way only the Joker could master, that way that made his insides unravel, made him question his sanity in the morning.

But he walked away, slowly, hips swaying, giving Bruce a nice view of his ass that he took despite his shame. The Joker felt his eyes and sighed, shivered when he finally reached the chair and turned, slumping down into it and just _staring_.

“You know, Bats,” he said, drumming his fingers along the arm of the chair, “If you had behaved, this was going to go _qui-te_ differently. I wouldn’t have had to, ah, tie you down.” He frowned. “In fact, I’d be squirming in front of you, _right now_ , letting you watch as I stripped right down to the _bone_.” He laughed. “You could’ve had a crown on your head and my mouth on your dick, like a kiiing, Bats. But you went and _royally_ fucked that up.” He reached up, rubbed his jaw, flinching at the bruising skin. _If only Bruce hadn’t touched his face_.

The Joker leaned back, resting his hand on his abdomen, lightly tracing another bruise. He was speckled with purples and reds blooming on his pale skin, like a water color canvas half painted, and Bruce had had the brush forced from his hand. That hand traveled lower, slowly popped the button of his hands. “Instead,” the Joker snapped, “You get to _watch_.”

He reached a hand into his pants, pulled his cock out, half hard already, and Bruce didn’t need to ask if the man was wearing underwear. He knew he wasn’t. The Joker nearly purred as he stroked, watching Bruce with unflinching eyes. Bruce wanted to fidget, had little room, and when he looked away the Joker’s voice boomed, “ _Look at me_!”

Bruce’s head jerked back up, and the Joker shifted, draping a leg over the arm of the chair and lifting his hips- fully hard now and grinning. He tightened his fist and gasped, twisting it around the head of his cock _just the way he liked it_ , and Bruce felt the all too familiar tightness in the groin of his suit.

“Hard yet, _Batsss_?” He laughed as he lifted his hips, tilting his head back. Bruce could see his chest rising and falling, unsteady, the sweet contrast of his ribs to the rest of his body, and knew he was close. “Talk dirty to me Batsss, help a guy out.”

Bruce’s throat was dry, his words hoarser than usual as he said, “You’re sick.”

“Sick for _yooouuu_ ,” the Joker cooed, lifting his hips up more with his thrusts.

“Sick enough I’d like to bend you over and pin to to the ground.” Bruce hated his mouth the moment the words tumbled out, but he couldn’t stop them. Once this sordid game started, there was no way to stop it until it reached it’s climax- _his_ climax, this time. The Joker gave a little gasp, twisting around, and Bruce smirked. “Bury my hand in your hair and shove your face down- you’d _like_ that, wouldn’t you?”

The Joker keened in response, babbling for more, for his Bat, a holy mantra of _Bats_ leaving his mouth as he arched up and finally came. Bruce watched the way his body jerked, contorted, gritted his teeth at the ache in his groin for not being _inside_ him when it happened. He strained forward, watching as every breath tore through the man’s lungs and ribs and throat, as he relaxed slowly, a smile plastered on his face. He shifted, stood up and walked towards Bruce, having tucked himself back in his pants but leaving them open so Bruce could see the beginnings of the thatch of blonde curls that adorned that hidden treasure.

He slipped between Bruce’s legs, bowing his head and placing his lips against the bat on his suit, staring up through his blonde lashes. Bruce watched as those lips left behind smears of red, as his pink tongue darted out at one point- as if the symbol was Bruce’s cock, and he wanted to worship it. One of his hands was trailing along his abdomen, leaving sticky, white smudges behind that Bruce would have to clean off later, a reminder of all that he had missed.

He’d get a mess and a healthy dose of sexual frustration, and all the Joker would have was a pretty bunch of bruises to wear like war paint.


	6. Day 6: Be My Valentine

The Joker giggled as he walked towards Batman, a sway to his hips that Bruce couldn’t ignore. His eyes dragged down along the pink cotton dress the man had donned- an old fashioned nurse outfit, dyed that ungodly color, with a set of matching kitten heels. He’d even had a surgical mask on, at first, but was pulling that off as he walked, letting it drop to the dirty tiles of Arkham’s basement.

“So glad you got my _invitation_ , Batsy,” he said, cherry red lips cracking into a playful smile. Bruce shuddered, remembering that pale, severed arm that had appeared in a pristine red box with a large pink bow on his doorstep that night. It had clutched a Joker card with garish hearts drawn all over one side, the other was a scrawled note- the basement of Arkham, and a time.

Bruce had nearly wretched his guts up at the _gift_.

“You know, I was worried you might not come,” he said, stopping a few steps away and reaching one latex-gloved hand up to play with his green curls. “You’re just so _popular_ I thought you might have a _date_.”

Bruce ground his teeth together. Truth be told, he _had_ had a date, whom he had had to cancel on last minute. He feared what the Joker might do, if he didn’t show up- he worried there might be more body parts. He didn’t want that on his conscious.

“We can do this the easy way,” he said, “where you just give up the game and be _happy_ I came at all- or the hard way.” The Joker giggled, covering his cherry lips with his gloved fingers, smudging the lipstick onto the pads of the fingertips.

“ _Oh Batsy_ ,” he cooed, “the hard way, pah-lease.” He sauntered over, closing the distance, reaching up to wrap his arm around Bruce and delicately tease the ears of his cowl. “You know just _where_ to hit me, sugar.”

Bruce reached out, wrapped his hand around the Joker’s throat, cutting off his air. The clown gave a broken mewl, staring with wide dancing eyes into Bruce, his lips moving, the words unable to leave his throat. Bruce squeezed tighter, was sure the man would be seeing black spots, and then jerked him backwards, effectively tossing him away.

The Joker stumbled, lost his footing in his kitten heels, and sprawled on the floor. He pushed himself up on his elbows quickly, gasping for breath so his chet rose and fell quickly, staring at Bruce. For a moment, Bruce thought there might be _fear_ there, until those lips curved into a coy smirk and the man shifted his hips, spreading his thighs so his uniform rode up those pale thighs and Bruce got glimpses of whatever dark fabric was beneath.

He started laughing as Bruce averted his eyes- a mistake, he’d later realize. He looked back and the man was already to his feet, coaxing Bruce on with one tantalizing _come here_ finger, before he turned and took off down the hallway. Bruce gritted his teeth and gave chase, thinking the heels might throw the Joker off and slow him down. After a few strides though, as the man grew smaller and smaller down the long hallway with the flickering stale yellow lights, he knew the hope was in vein.

The man turned a corner and was gone, and Bruce forced his legs to work faster, his muscles screaming back at him that they had reached their limit. He rounded the corner and skidded to a stop, faced with a long empty hallway. He walked slowly now, eyes darting at the doors along either side. They were all left cracked open, and cautiously he stopped at the first and laid a hand against it. He pushed it open, body tense and ready for anything-

All he found, set up on the desk by a large spike, was another severed arm- matching the one he had received. This one had a closed fist, tied with pink ribbon, around a mix of red and white roses. Bruce hesitated, then stepped inside, walking over to it. The office looked like no one had been down here in days, easily- had left a mess behind. Part of him was shocked that this level of Arkham was even still used by professionals, and he made a mental note hidden away to look into that.

He touched his gloved fingers to one of the roses, hated himself silently for leaning closer. He could smell them- they were _fresh_ , this had all been done very recently. He considered plucking one from the hand for a closer look when he heard a ghostly giggle and jerked around, ready for the clown.

All he saw was the rest of the empty office. With a growl, he stormed out of the office, into the next one, this time throwing the door open, then freezing his eyes roamed over this new scene.

A top another desk- this one free of paper clutter at least- was a set of legs, sawed off cleanly at the pelvic juncture. They had been arranged so that one was bent at the knee, the calf hanging leisurely over the lip of the desk, while the other, also bent at the knee, had the foot planted firmly atop the desk, tilted so Bruce could see the profile of one delicate foot. Both legs ended in sleek red heels, and Bruce could see the thin pins that had been nails into the desk to keep them in place.

“Alluring, isn’t it, _Batsss_?” Bruce jerked his head back, wasn’t sure when he’d walked so far into the office. The Joker was leaning in the doorway, watching him with those alert eyes. He smirked and walked over, tracing a hand along his shoulder blades, letting it dance in the air as he moved past him, before it walked behind the desk and let it rest on one of the thighs, stroking gently. “I wasn’t sure if you were a _leg_ man or not, but I took my chances!” He giggled, leaning over, “And while it would have been _lovely_ to display myself just like this, I thought it more tasteful to leave that sort of thing for the _end_ of our little date. Still,” he touched his fingers to the top of the foot planted on the desk, ran them up one shapely calf and a smooth thigh, letting his tongue dart out to trace his lower lip, “A rather _arousing_ sight, isn’t it?”

Bruce’s stomach tightened, and he _wanted_ to move, to grab the clown and subdue him and end this madness, but he felt cemented to the floor. All he could do was watch as the Joker walked back around, this time dragged a latex-gloved finger along his chest. “Follow me sugar,” he teased, “And maybe I’ll put on those heels and let ya see _me_ splayed on the desk.”

He nearly skipped form the room, disappearing out the door, and Bruce _watched_ before fully turning to follow. Of course, the hallway was deserted, and he was left to pick a room. He walked into one of the remaining two, this time stopping once the door was open as bile rose in his throat.

This desk had a severed head perked on it, the neck rigged up so it stared at Bruce from behind a set of large, red heart-shaped rim sunglasses. Bruce wondered who the girl was as he walked closer, who she had been before the Joker dismembered her and used her in his sick little show for Bruce. He bent down, furrowing his brows together. Her lipstick- cherry red and _an exact match to the Joker’s_ \- was smudged slightly at the corners. Bruce reached out, pinched hi jaw and forced her mouth open, saw something sitting on her tongue.

Forcing his stomach to stay down past his throat, he reached in and pulled out a small, chalky pink heart, with the words “xoxo” written on it. Bruce snarled and crushed the candy, turning around and bursting from the room, charging into the only remaining office in the hallway.

The final room was dark, candles flickering around. Bruce’s nose was assaulted with the mix of vanilla and strawberry scented wax and the heavy smell of cold blood- stale, but not for too long.

The Joker was standing behind this final desk, a fresh surgical mask on his face. He had a scalpel sitting, bloody, on the desk, as he delved his hands into a torso, cut wide open to the navel. Bruce didn’t move, watched as the man worked. He was humming softly, shooting glances up through his blonde eyelashes and a few stray green curls, before looking back down. He made a small happy noise, reached one bloody hand out and grabbed the scalpel, and Bruce heard it slicing through tissue.

“Perfect,” the Joker purred, setting it down again and reaching up to pull his mask off, leaving a smear of blood on one cheek. He pulled a bloody mass out of the torso and cradled it in both hands, walking around the desk and up to Bruce, holding it out, like a gift. “For you, _darling_ ,” he purred, and Bruce looked down at the cold, lifeless heart. He reached out and grabbed the Joker by his wrist, pulling him closer, causing him to drop it. It made a sick wet _thud_ on the floor that Bruce would never be able to forget.

The Joker was giggling as his chest crashed into Bruce’s, as he slid up his body and let his free arm curl around him. “Be my Valentine, Bats,” he said, leaning up and pressing his mouth haphazardly against Bruce’s. Before he could even think he had lost his grip on the man’s wrist and that hand was up against his face, pressing late covered, bloody fingers into his jawline to hold him still while a warm tongue flicked at his lower lip, teasing him. Bruce’s stomach was knotting, quivering, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to vomit or wrap his arms around the vile creature that was pressing to him.

The Joker made the decision for him. He untangled from him long enough to shove him back so he fell into a small leather chair in the corner of the office, and climbed up onto him quickly, pinning him down and kissing him again. Bruce grabbed at him, one hand finding his thigh and tracing up along it, pushing the dress up until it rested partially on his ass. Bruce kneaded the flesh there, able to tell the glimpse of dark fabric he’d seen earlier was indeed something small and black and lacy by the way it moved under his hand.

“I thought of _everything_ ,” the Joker breathed, pushing back into that hand as one of his own reached down into one of the pockets of his uniform. He pulled something and held it up for just a second, so Bruce could see it, then popped it into his mouth- bloodied form his glove- and kissed Bruce against, his tongue forcing it into the vigilante’s mouth until his tongue curled around the small, heart shaped candy, and accepted it. The small writing Bruce had seen rang in his head, over and over again, as the Joker’s hands fluttered and twitched over his body, rocking into him in a needy, vile way.

_Be mine_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day everyone!

**Author's Note:**

> This work doesn't quite follow the horror theme I'm going to be using for most of the week, but I thought it might be nice to start a little more classical!
> 
> As always, come hit me up on [Tumblr](http://madnizilla.tumblr.com/)!


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